


The Karateye Kid

by 3theCaptain



Category: Karate Kid (Movies), The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Comedy, Crack, M/M, let jon punch elias!, one swear but by god is it earned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:53:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25445689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/3theCaptain/pseuds/3theCaptain
Summary: The Avatar Tournament is only a few days away, and teenage Jonathan Sims needs a mentor to train him! Perhaps mysterious old Mr Miyagi could help him out, but first he's going to have to convince him he's in the right genre -- and on top of that, he'll be competing against local avatar champion, Elias Bouchard!
Relationships: Jonathan Sims/Martin Blackwood
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7
Collections: The Magnus Archives Flash Fanwork Challenge





	The Karateye Kid

**Author's Note:**

> [Please forgive how rough this is; I wrote it in like an hour.]
> 
> This fic written for the TMA Hiatus Flash Fanwork challenge, which releases prompts on each Monday of the hiatuses, and on Wednesdays all the submissions are revealed!
> 
> Join the discord to make your own flash fanwork (fic, art, cosplay, anything!) or just to enjoy what others submit!
> 
> https://discord.gg/HrWVXDE

The teenager strode down the street – he was a fast walker. When he walked he forgot about all notions of 'pace' and 'why the hell are you walking so fast Jon are you running late for a boring person convention'. He was tanned and long-haired and squinting dark eyes in the summer California sun: the picture of the hippy his stepfather Steve had always warned him about, and he was on a mission.

  
He came to a stop outside a tumbledown old beach house. Was this the right place? A fence surrounded a meticulously tended garden of sunflowers, bamboo, and jasmine. The house, though old, was well-maintained and its horizontal wooden siding, despite the constant sting of sea wind, showed clear signs of regular repair and paint. This was the far end of a sandswept lane with few other houses around, at least none that looked like they'd been occupied by anyone in a decade. Banks of sand had billowed up outside the south side of the surrounded fence, blown in from the southerly that ripped through this part of the coast this time of year. Great for sailors and surfers, not so great for suntanning or ice cream cones, both of which were Jon's go-to methods for picking up beach babes and ingratiating himself into the local teen network. (That is what one was supposed to do, Jon reasoned, when one was a teenager in California. He knew because of films.)

  
Jon dithered. He was an expert ditherer. He'd once put off introducing himself to his team in a history group project for so long that he'd built a period-accurate diorama of the Parthenon and written a speech on mythological figures in the style of a Homeric poem, all without the rest of his team knowing he was in their group until presentation day. That had been great, a rousing success for team dithering.  
This was ridiculous, he thought, he should leave—

  
"Are you going to stand there all day or are you going to come in?" a voice said.

  
Jon jumped so hard he nearly flew right out of his heelies.

  
A man was standing up from behind the sunflowers. He was older, perhaps in his sixties.

  
“What are you doing here, boy?” he asked, not unkindly.

  
“Uh—” Jon gulped. He hadn’t mentally prepared for a conversation yet and his mind was doing cartwheels trying to get itself into Social Mode. He clenched his fist by his side like an anime protagonist and said with all the confidence in his frail little body: “I’m here to train for the Avatar Tournament! Will you train me?”

  
He said this more emphatically than he’d intended – nearly shouting – and had even included an index finger point at the man like he was challenging him to a pokemon fight. Way to go, Jon, he thought, real smooth.

  
“The Avatar Tournament?” the man replied slowly. His eyes narrowed. “What makes you think I know anything about being a fear avatar?”

  
“You’re, uhh—” Jon pulled a scrap of paper from his pocket. How he remembered anything without it written down was a mystery to the world. “Mr Miyagi, at the end of Fishmarket Close, right?”

  
“Yes?”

  
“Well, I was told you’re the guy to go to if you’re a plucky youngster from out of town trying to train up for a big competition! You know, a sweet coming of age story for a kid who’s just trying to find his place in the world and prove himself to the bullies, his crush, his family, and himself!”

  
Mr Miyagi regarded him for several long moments. Jon felt Seen down to his bones, like this old man could categorise not only the contents of his soul but also the contents of his lunch.

  
“No,” Mr Miyagi said, and ducked back down to his sunflowers.

  
“What! No, no, no you can’t just say that – why? Why not?”

  
“Because you aren’t the plucky protagonist of a teen ‘80s family-friendly romp, you’re a cosmic horror protagonist in a slow descent into being a monster – come back when you’ve changed genres, kid, and then we’ll talk.”

  
“What? No, no – I’m plucky! I swear!”

  
“Plucky? Yeah, right.” Mr Miyagi stood back up and leaned against his fence, leaning so close to Jon that he took a couple paces back. The old man was petite and unassuming, but something in the way he held himself said you didn’t want to mess with him. Miyagi gestured at Jon. “Just look at you! You’ve alienated everyone close to you and murdered several people – how could you ever be in a lighthearted ‘80s romp? Go home, kid.”

  
Mr Miyagi turned his back on Jon and started walking back toward the house.

  
Jon panicked. What was he supposed to do?! He couldn’t let it end like this—

  
“Don’t go, Mr Miyagi!” cried the teenage Jonathan Sims (which I guarantee will be the strangest sentence you read all day). “I’ll lose the tournament without an inspiring training montage with a surrogate father figure!”

  
But the old man ignored him, scaling the steps to his door. C’mon, Jon, think! he told himself. How could he cram himself into another genre?

  
“I-I’ve had a birthday party scene! Sure, it was mostly for poetic irony, but there was some comedy in there too! And-and-"

  
Mr Miyagi had reached his door. He pulled it open and stepped inside.

  
“I once asked Martin if he was a ghost!”

  
The door, a half inch from closed, stopped. Then it opened and Mr Miyagi scrutinised him from the threshold.

  
“What did you say?” he asked.

  
Jon laughed with relief. “I-I used to be a real skeptic but then he was talking all about how he felt like he couldn’t leave the archives and—”

  
“No, no not that,” Mr Miyagi said with a shake of his head. “I’m interested in the way you said it. Tell me, who exactly is this ‘Martin’ character to you?”

  
“Oh, Martin?” Jon sighed and leaned his head atop of the fence. “He’s only the most eligible non-avatar in the setting! All the avatars want to get with him: the Lonely, the Web – even the Extinction tried to flirt with him, that stupid idiot and his useless umbrella—”

  
“I get it, I get it,” Mr Miyagi cut him off. “And would you say you’re fond of this Martin?”

  
“Fond? Ha!” Jon scoffed, straightening back up, the picture of nonchalance. “Nah, of course not! He’s dumb and useless and drops everything, he’s the worst! But also I would die for him.”

  
“Hmmm…” Mr Miyagi emerged from his house and peered into Jon’s soul once more. He muttered, more to himself than Jon, “Yes, that might just be enough…”

  
Before Jon could react Mr Miyagi was pulling him into the yard.

  
“Very well, I will train you!”

  
“Wha—oh, THANK YOU, Mr Miyagi, thank you, I don’t know how to—”

  
“Enough of that! We’re very low on time and so training must begin immediately!”

  
Mr Miyagi led Jon into the back garden to a beaten-up old car and pointed Jon at a bucket of waxing supplies.

  
“I want you to wax my car.”

  
“Uhh pardon me?”

  
“You heard me! With the ‘wax on’ motion, I want you to be mentally switching on your magical Eye ability of Asking someone something and they’re compelled to tell you. And with the ‘wax off’ motion, I want you to mentally switch that ability off.”

  
“The hell? Mr Miyagi, how is that supposed to help me win the tournament?”

  
“Don’t question me, boy! Tying mental exercises to gestures or motions you do with your body is actually a really good memory technique. If you train well enough, you should be able to turn your power on and off just by waving your hand, without even thinking about it! This way, when you use your power deliberately it will be all the more powerful, and you won’t be using it accidentally all the time.”

  
“How did you know I was using it accidentally—”

  
“It’s written all over your face! You’re a boy with a lot of tragic mistakes and character flaws under your belt, so if you want to change genres, kid, you’re going to have to work on it – and trust me.”

  
The words ‘trust me’ rang familiar to Jon. He grabbed a sponge and bottle of wax. There was no dithering his way out of this one. It was time to train.

  
“I’m on it, sir.”

  
“Good boy. Now enough chatter, get to it!”

  
Eye of the Tiger started playing from the air, and Jon got to work.

  
He waxed the car, and by the time its sheen was reflecting a mirror shine in the California sun, Jon had asked it so many questions he knew every detail of its construction and history, from the number of bolts in the frame down to the exact nature of the bodily fluid stained on the back seat.

  
Next, Mr Miyagi had him shine the hardwood floors of the house. He showed the boy how to grip the scraper just so, and really puuush forward to develop those arm muscles. He said this was, similarly, to tie the motion to one of his powers; he was supposed to think of someone into whom he wanted to burn the knowledge of the fear they’ve created, so now in the future any time Jon wanted to smite someone with the power of the Ceaseless Watcher he’d be doing it in the motion of a kamehameha.

  
Jon kamehameha’ed the floor so hard that the grain of the wood reformed to resemble ten thousands staring eyes, the perfect accompaniment for righteous smiting at your next dinner party.

  
Finally as the sun set the night before the tournament, Mr Miyagi sat Jon down with a cup of tea. The taste of jasmine filled Jon’s senses, a welcome respite from all the hard work of the past few days. Eye of the Tiger was still playing, but more quietly now: a slow instrumental piano rendition to suit the calm mood.

  
“Alright, Jonathan-san,” Mr Miyagi said. He held his porcelain cup with both hands and blew across the surface. “It is time I teach you the most powerful ability of the Eye yet. But it is not a skill to be used lightly. If I teach you this, you must promise me to only use it for good.”

  
Jon trembled, so he too held his teacup with both hands. He nodded solemnly.

  
“I promise.”

  
“Very well. It is called ‘active listening.’ This is a profoundly powerful technique, one which takes a lifetime of experience to master, but you are never too young to start learning. Active listening is when you listen carefully to what someone is telling you, withholding both judgement and advice. You reflect back to the person what they have said so they understand you are hearing what they’re saying, and you provide them with your full attention, show you’re listening, and occasionally ask specific, non-judgemental questions to clarify their meaning and to let them know you understand.”

  
“But how is that useful?”

  
“You see, most conversations are casual; people are distracted and change the subject frequently. This often leaves people feeling as though no one truly understands what they are going through, which contributes to feelings of frustration and isolation. But with active listening, you have the power to make someone feel Seen in a good way, in a way that makes them feel like they belong. And belonging, Jonathan-san, is the very antithesis of fear.”

  
“Whoa.”

  
“Yes, indeed. Now you need your rest; you’ve been working hard the past few days and I want you to know that regardless of the outcome of tomorrow’s tournament, I am proud of you. Now go home, sleep well, and I’ll see you in the morning.”

  
Jon drained his tea and headed toward the door. Hand on the handle, he stopped.

  
“Mr Miyagi?”

  
“Yes?”

  
“Thanks.”

  
They spent the next day with stretches, warm-ups, and reviewing. When the sun began to set, it was tournament time.

  
The tournament was taking place in the community centre by the beach. Jon and Mr Miyagi entered and set up in the contestants’ corner. The gym area was laid out with the ring in the centre and rows of bleachers surrounding it. Every avatar who was anyone was here, as well as their entourage of fear captives.

  
The Eye was the tournament judge. Its massive, bulbous form sat atop a stage at the far end of the gym where it could see everything taking place. Sitting beside the Eye was belle of the ball Martin Blackwood, the human who every avatar wanted in their domain.

  
Peter Lukas, the pig-headed sailing jock, sauntered in with a cloud of mist and Jon scowled at him.

  
Peter lowered his sunglasses at Martin and said, “Oh yeah. I’d love to stand that up on a date.”

  
“Piss off!” Jon barked at him, but in the background chatter of the crowd Peter didn’t hear him.

  
“Don’t get distracted,” Mr Miyagi said. “Focus on your training, and you remember you can do this.”

  
The tournament began. 

  
Jon flew through round after round, Asking avatars about themselves to distract them and then blasting them into oblivion with his trademarked anime finishing move. The Slaughter left him with a busted knee and the Buried made him short of breath, but finally after hours of whittling down the competition only two participants remained in the running: Jonathan Sims… and Elias Bouchard.

  
Mr Miyagi gave Jon an encouraging squeeze on the shoulders and let him enter the ring. Jon stepped in. On the other side of the gym beside Mr Beholding, Jon caught Martin’s eye. He gave a little wave and a hopeful smile, and Jon’s chest warmed.

  
Elias stepped in the way.

  
“Mr Sims,” he said in that perpetually gloating voice of his. “What a pleasure to face off against you at last.”

  
“Face Off is a different genre,” Jon snarled, “and your reign of terror as this beach town’s avatar champion is over, you hear me? You’re going down!”

  
“Ahahaha!” Elias threw back his head for an anime laugh. “Oh I think not! Mr Blackwood will become an avatar of the Eye after I win, and there’s nothing you can do about it!”

  
“Martin is HUMAN, dammit, no matter what any of you say!”

  
“Jon!” Mr Miyagi stage whispered from the corner. “Stay focused, don’t let him distract you!”

  
Jon gritted his teeth and nodded.

  
The referee raised a flag, and—the buzzer went off, the match had begun!

  
Elias and Jon went back and forth, slinging questions and smugness like bullets.

  
Finally, they were each one point away from winning the match. Jon stumbled on his lame knee, unsure how to proceed, while Elias sneered down at him.

  
“Hm, it’s a shame really,” Elias said. “I thought you would have put up more of a fight.”

  
Mr Miyagi caught Jon’s eye from the sideline. He gave Jon a slow nod, a nod that said ‘Your training is complete. It is time.’ Jon nodded back slowly.

  
Elias was circling the ring, raising his arms to goad the crowd; they jeered back at him but he soaked up the attention, he reveled in it.

  
“Hey, Elias,” Jon said. He marched right up to his rival. Mano-a-mano, tete a tete. It was time for the big finishing move.

  
“Yes, Jon?” he said with his smug little grin.

  
And Jon roundhouse kicked Elias right in his fucking face.

  
The little twerp flew back onto the mat and the crowd went wild. The buzzer rang and the referee was shouting something but the crowd surged forward into the ring and lifted Jon by his gangly limbs up into the air, cheering and chanting over and over.

  
Daisy pressed her way through the crowd and presented Jon with the trophy.

  
“Congrats, eye boy!” she shouted, and Jon pulled her into an awkward one-armed hug as the crowd bounced him up and down.

  
Martin turned to the Beholding, flipped it off, and raced into the crowd as well. He reached Jon’s side with a huge smile on his face.

  
"That was an extremely illegal move," Martin said.

  
Mr Miyagi raced over and placed a hand on Jon’s shoulder.

  
“Welcome to your new genre, kid,” he said.

  
Jon looked at his mentor and, teary-eyed and overwhelmed, he wordlessly nodded, accepting the gesture.

  
“You are absolutely going to be disqualified,” said Martin.

  
Jon asked the crowd to let him down.

  
“C’mon, Martin,” Jon said. “Hows abouts we get out of here and grab an ice cream cone?”

  
“I’d like that,” Martin said. He blushed. He was adorable when he blushed, Jon thought.

  
Jon looped his arm through Martin’s and pulled him through the crowd and out the door into the chill, salty night air of a quiet beachside town.

  
“Let’s go to the Happy Shack; there’s a nice booth there. There’s so much you don’t know about emulsifiers!” Jon said, his voice receding as they marched into the night.

  
“The Happy Shack? I'm not sure how to get there from here...”

  
“It’s okay,” Jon said as the doors swung closed. “I know the way.”


End file.
